by Nic Saint
Searching further, she wandered into the garden, its turf immaculately maintained, and found a small shack at the bottom. Entering it, she discovered not gardening tools but yet another writing space. Table and chair had been placed in front of a small window overlooking the jungle that lay behind the shack. For a moment, she sank into the chair, her elbows on the ebony desk, and stared out. Then the trees momentarily parted, and she could see the bright blue ocean shimmering beyond. This place truly was a writer’s paradise. She closed her eyes and let her head rest on her arms. She could hear the rustling of the trees, the whisper of the ocean, and the soft chirping of the birds.
If not for the presence of Josh, she could have really enjoyed this unexpected sojourn. Every day, she could have picked a different writing place, and in the evenings, after a hard day’s work, she could have run down to the beach and swum commando, letting the waves take away all the tension before retiring for the night.
Briefly, she wondered if Josh would join her for a swim if she asked him nicely. Perhaps they could both dive in sans clothes. She wouldn’t mind if he saw her naked. After all, he’d already seen her before. Her mind jumped to an image of the both of them cavorting in the surf, then lazily entwined on the beach, his body hard and unyielding against hers, his strong hands clasping her wet breasts, his lips on hers. She jerked up as if stung.
“Let’s not go there,” she murmured automatically, pushing herself up from the chair. The heat had made her drowsy, and her head spun for a moment as she stood.
Yep, the heat had done that. Sure.
CHAPTER 7
Josh awoke with a start. He must have dozed off. The rustling sound of the wind filled the air. It was his favorite background noise when writing—or thinking about writing. He checked the notepad next to the couch. It was still as empty as it had been before. No Gremlins or little green men had filled the pages while he was asleep.
He rubbed his eyes. One day into his retreat and he still hadn’t come up with a single idea for his next novel. This was simply getting ridiculous.
Then it dawned on him. The reason he’d awakened was the delicious smell wafting into the room. Food. Someone was cooking.
The rumble in his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He was genuinely hungry, and so, probably, was she.
She. Chloe Thomson. The recollection of his new roommate came crashing into his consciousness. Her being here made things all that much harder.
Already his agent had been complaining about the lack of spark in his last novel. The new one better be a real page-turner. He picked up the empty pad, rose to his feet and threw it onto the desk. His laptop sat abandoned, the blank screen taunting him. He closed it shut with an impatient slap.
Padding over to the bedroom to put on a shirt, he was surprised when he found his suitcase on the bed, a bunch of his clothes neatly piled on top of it.
He stared at it blankly. The last time a woman had put his suitcase and clothes out for him to find had been a clear message to clear out.
Was Chloe asking him to leave? But they’d talked about this.
He moved over to the closet to pick up a fresh shirt. Then he understood. She’d divided the space evenly between them, dumping the surplus onto the bed. He grinned. His first impression of her had been that of a meek young woman, but the more he spent time with her, the more he found she was anything but meek. She took what she wanted, and if he didn’t like it, tough luck.
He had to admit he liked her spunk.
As he buttoned up his shirt, he searched his memory in vain for a book that carried her name. Nope. Nothing came to mind. As far as he knew, she was a complete unknown. Probably a debut author.
He crossed the hallway to the living room on the other side, following the delicious scent, and felt his mood improve with every step he took. One thing he didn’t like about a retreat like this was that he had to do all the cooking himself. He was used to having his housekeeper take care of that side of life for him, and even though cooking at Eden Island mainly consisted of taking a pre-prepared meal out of the fridge, dumping it onto a plate and placing it in the grill, it was still work that potentially distracted him from his novel.
Huh. What novel?
Stepping into the living room, he was surprised that Chloe was nowhere to be found. The modern open kitchen with butcher block counter top at the center was empty, and so was the rest of the roomy space.
Then he heard the telltale sound of cutlery scraping against china outside. Following both smell and sound, he emerged onto the terrace to walk in on Chloe as she was finishing her meal.
Seated at the terrace table in her bikini, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she pronged a lone potato and raised it to her mouth when she noticed him. The fork hovered in the air, her mouth open as her eyes slowly rose to meet his.
“Smells delicious,” he grunted, feeling his mood plummet to below zero in spite of the heat.
“It is,” she confirmed with a smile, then popped the potato into her mouth and bit down, savoring the taste. “Yummy,” she added quite unnecessarily.
He narrowed his eyes and grumbled something under his breath. He didn’t know why he was angry. It stood to reason that they would eat alone, what with him insisting they avoid each other as much as possible. But he still felt annoyed. As she adjusted her position, he couldn’t help but stare at her wiggling boobs, pushed up by a tiny pink bikini top.
“You know?” she offered, unperturbed, “I think we should draw up a schedule. Like families do? Bathroom times, kitchen times, that sort of thing. That way we can stay out of each other’s hair.” She pointed to her watch. “Five o’clock. Bit early for dinner but I don’t mind. I’ll wash up so you can take the six o’clock shift. What do you think? We should do the same for breakfast and lunch.”
“I think it’s great,” he mumbled. “Just swell.”
And without another word, he stalked off, leaving her to stare after him. She had that surprised look in her eyes he’d seen before. Actually, he’d surprised himself. He didn’t want to have dinner with her, did he? He didn’t want to see her any more than he had to, right? Of course not! Then why was he feeling so disappointed all of a sudden?
He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Yanking open the fridge, he picked the first container that presented itself, dumped the contents onto a plate and shoved it into the grill. Giving the timer a vicious twist, he folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, his face a thundercloud.
He hadn’t waited ten seconds before she came charging into the kitchen.
“Hey!” she yelled, swinging her arms defiantly. “What’s with you all of a sudden? I’m trying to be all nice and cooperative, and you almost bit my nose!”
“I didn’t bite your nose,” he returned through gritted teeth. And what a lovely nose it was. Each time she was mad, it wrinkled into the cutest little button. Which was, of course, none of his concern.
“You did!” She swung out her hip and placed her hand on it. “Look, Josh. You’re the one who said we should stay out of each other’s way, not me. So why you should get all worked up beats me.”
He waved a hand. “Just go away, will you. I will be alone.”
The words had the effect of gasoline poured on a raging fire. “I won’t go away!” she squeaked, her voice almost inaudible to human ears. “First you apologize to me for—for—for—”
“For what?” he growled.
“For being a pompous prick!” she spat.
He shrugged. “I’m just being me, honey. If you can’t stand it, you can always go back to wherever the hell you came from.”
He was being a dick, and he knew it, but somehow he was madder than hell, and he wanted to take it out on her.
Her nostrils flared, and her head was now so red he thought it might explode at any moment. He even imagined he saw smoke pour from her ears.
Just then, the grill dinged, and he grabbed an oven mitt. “Now I suggest you let me
eat in peace, huh? Can you do that for me?”
She sputtered something unintelligible for a moment, then yelled, “Phooey!” and stormed out of the kitchen.
He stared after her, admiring the swing of her hips and the sway of her pert buttocks. Dammit. Only a few hours and already she’d managed to get under his skin. He really had to watch himself. Before he knew it, he’d be falling for the wench, and then where would he be?
CHAPTER 8
Chloe was so mad she didn’t even know where she was going. It was only when she’d slammed the bedroom door and thrown herself onto the bed, that she realized where she was.
The man was truly intolerable. He simply did whatever he could to make her life miserable. He hated her if she came near him, and he hated her if she didn’t. And all for the sake of his precious writing. Well, she knew that was a big joke. She’d snuck back into his office to clean up the broken vase shards, and the only noise that had greeted her was a persistent snoring. He’d lain there, sound asleep, and hadn’t even noticed her!
If he was a bestselling writer, she was the first lady. Curious to find out more about him, she’d even checked his laptop. The only thing she saw was an empty page. Three days and he hadn’t even written the first sentence!
She hopped off the bed again, and only now noticed his trunk and clothes were gone. So he’d found her little surprise gift. Perhaps that’s why he was so mad? Mister Super Writer didn’t like it if someone touched his stuff?
“Don’t let him get to you,” she admonished herself. “Don’t let him get under your skin. He’s only out to get back at you for disturbing his precious ‘writing time’.”
She was pacing the room frantically, feeling like a caged animal whose warden is just outside the door. She needed to stretch her legs, needed to get away from that horrible man. She dove into the wardrobe and quickly fished out a pair of jeans shorts and a bright yellow tank top. Slipping the tank top over her bikini, she was reminded of the strange look that had come into Josh’s eyes when he’d first walked up to her just now. At first, he’d actually looked pleased to see her, but that had quickly changed when he saw her munching down her dinner all by herself. Could it be that he’d expected them to share their meals? Surely not.
Then a thought struck her. Maybe he wanted her to cook for him. Yeah, right. That would happen the day hell froze over.
She kicked off her flip-flops and slipped into her sneakers.
Without deigning Josh a look, she stalked through the living room, feeling his eyes burning holes in her back, and without a word stepped onto the terrace, passed by the writing shack and disappeared into the brush.
She had absolutely no idea where she was going, but she was determined to get there, and fast.
It was only when she’d been trudging through the jungle for five minutes, that she realized she was lost. On every side, thick brush was surrounding her. And was that a big, fat spider crawling up her leg? Yikes! She quickly brushed it off and turned back the way she’d come. Which was… which way exactly? Everywhere she turned, bright green fronds blocked her view.
Impossible. She’d seen the beach from the shack, hadn’t she?
She slapped down some of the fronds in an attempt to get a sense of direction, but beyond the leaves there were more leaves. And then more still.
She decided to duck low—same story. Aim high? Nope.
Heaving a shaky sigh, she waved her arms, slapped the fronds aside, and pushed on.
“March on, brave soldier, march on,” she sang in a reedy voice.
And march on, she did, but that didn’t seem to get her anywhere.
Dang. All she’d wanted was a nice little stroll along the beach to clear her head, and here she was trapped in the jungle from hell. And was that another fat spider abseiling down her arm?
“Aaaaaaargh!” she yelled out when the fat hairy thing was joined by two of its even hairier cousins. She flung the trio away, only to find another spider sailing down from the trees above and making a crash landing onto her nose!
“Get off!” she screeched and started flapping around wildly in an attempt to get the nasty beasties to stay away from her.
Unfortunately, they didn’t speak English, for more of them started flopping down all around her. As they landed, they made soft little thuds, their hairy bodies cushioning the fall.
“Heeeeeeeeelp!” she hollered. “Heeeeeeelp!”
Judging from the itching sensation on her neck and cheek, the eight-legged creepy crawlies were very interested in her. Then, suddenly, a voice called out somewhere in her vicinity.
“Chloe! Where are you!”
“Josh! I’m here! Help! I’m being attacked!”
There was a mighty grunting sound, and some sort of hacking motion that swayed the fronds directly in front of her, and then, before her relieved eyes, Josh came into view, wielding a stick with surprising ease.
He leveled one long look at her, then growled, “Follow me,” and started hacking his way in the other direction.
She could still feel dozens of hairy legs crawling all over her body, even sneaking beneath her shirt, and was glad Josh cut a furious pace. She eagerly followed in his footsteps, and when finally the ocean came into view, she could have cried with relief.
Josh took her by the arm and quickly rubbed his hands across her hair, her face…
“Let’s get you out of this,” he muttered, and before she could protest, had slipped her shirt over her head, then flung his hands across her shoulders, her back, her… chest. When his fingers flicked across her breasts, it was as if an electric current shot through her. And this time it wasn’t the spiders but something else entirely. But then he was stripping down her shorts, so she didn’t have time to examine the sensation more closely. Along with the shorts, the remaining spiders were brushed off her legs.
“I think that does it,” he murmured, then stared up into her eyes, and before she knew what was happening, had picked her up from the sandy beach, and was making his way over to the gently lapping surf.
Clasping her arms around his neck, she just had time to yell out, “What are you—” before he raced in, and she was dunked into the water.
When she came up for air, spluttering and splashing, she was met by his grinning face just beside hers.
“I think that took care of that,” he exclaimed, laughing into her eyes.
As a thank you, she hauled off and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.
CHAPTER 9
Josh couldn’t believe she’d slap him after all he’d done for her. He’d practically saved her life out there!
Furious, he swam back to the beach with strong thrusts of his powerful arms, intent on leaving her out here. If she really hated him that much, she could go to hell for all he cared.
“Josh! I’m sorry!” her voice cried out behind him.
He turned back just when a wave crashed into him. He lost his footing and went under, being sucked into the maelstrom of rushing water. Coughing and spluttering, he rose from the waves and shook his head like a weary dog. When he’d finally wiped the brine from his eyes, he couldn’t see Chloe anywhere.
“Chloe?” he called out tentatively. Wheeling around, he searched around for a sign of her. Nothing. “Chloe!” he yelled.
Was she playing games now? Had she ducked down the moment he resurfaced? Or—the sickening thought entered his mind—was it that she couldn’t swim?
As the truth hit home, he dove into the surf once more, making his way over to where he’d left her and searching around in vain for a sign of life. Oh, God. Had he dumped her into the deep only to let her drown? He couldn’t have that on his consciousness! With renewed vigor, he splashed beneath the crashing waves once more, eyes wide open, searching for a sign of Chloe.
Nothing!
In a panic, he dove again and again, searching left and right for the woman he’d just saved from the jungle only to deliver her to her watery grave. Then, suddenly, just when he was about t
o plunge in again, he heard it.
“Yoo-hoo!”
As if stung, he whipped his head around. The sound had come from the beach—the only place he hadn’t cared to look.
“Yoo-hoo! Josh!”
And then he saw it—saw her. She was languidly relaxing on the beach, catching some rays, and giving him a big smile.
“When you’re done playing around, could we go back to the house? All this sun and surf has given me an appetite!”
With an animal cry, he launched himself for the beach, and when he finally emerged, all wet and bothered, it was all he could do not to give her a good thrashing before dumping her ass back into the ocean.
“Didn’t you hear me call your name?” he cried, standing before her like a wide-legged colossus.
“I did, but you seemed to be having so much fun I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she offered, coyly gazing up at him.
With a disgusted snort, he tore his eyes away from her and started up the beach in the direction of the tree line.
“Hey! Wait up!” she yelled, and he could hear her trudge after him.
Without deigning her another look, he marched on. This woman was going to be the death of him.
“I’m sorry, Josh,” she panted, trying to match his long strides with her own short ones. “I guess I was mad at you for being such a dick to me earlier.”
He merely grunted something under his breath and kept on walking.